Your Hand in Mine
by ariel2me
Summary: Written for Game of Ships Ice and Fire Challenge on Tumblr. Prompt: Snowed In. Steffon Baratheon/Cassana Estermont


Cassana had never felt this cold in her life. The storm raging over Shipbreaker Bay often brought cold wind in its path, but this was a different kind of chill, bone-deep and shattering. Storms were nothing new to Cassana, but a snowstorm was a different creature altogether.

"I should have accepted Lord Stark's offer to stay longer at Winterfell," Steffon said, his eyes staring out the window of the small and chilly room. There was a fire, but nowhere near large and blazing enough to heat the room and its two occupants.

They were lucky to have even found the inn, Cassana knew. Only two rooms were vacant; the guards Steffon had taken with him from Storm's End were crowded together in the other room. Cassana shuddered thinking of the seven men trying to sleep in a room of that size. But perhaps they would feel warmer than she and Steffon were feeling at the moment.

She made her way closer to her husband, handing him a cloak to wear over his doublet. He took it from her with a smile and a nod; he had never been anything other than courtesy personified towards Cassana. But they were strangers still in many ways, Steffon and Cassana, even after the birth of a son. What was he thinking of at the moment, staring out the window at the whiteness that threatened to devour the world? Cassana did not know. Worse still, she did not know if her query on the matter would be welcomed or rebuffed. She knew he would never reply to her sharply or show his displeasure blatantly, but in some ways that made it even more difficult for her to gauge his true feelings on anything.

_Courtesy could be a weapon as sharp as any knife_, Cassana thought, _and a wall as impenetrable as any stone._

"Well, I promised to show you the North," Steffon said, turning to look at Cassana. "You must be disappointed. I have not planned our journey well enough. Forgive me, Cassana."

She quickly shook her head. "I am not disappointed. Winterfell is a revelation. And I was the one who wanted to leave as soon as the feast was over."

She had been dreaming about Robert. Robert in his crib crying incessantly for his mother. It was a foolish fancy, Cassana tried telling herself. Robert had a wet nurse to feed him and two other nurses to watch over him day and night. And Robert had never been a fussy babe. But there it was … she could not ignore the growing dread she was feeling.

Steffon had not called her "a silly girl" like Cassana's father would have done in a similar situation, or tried to convince her to stay. She was grateful for that. She was fortunate in many ways, she knew, to be married to this man.

But Steffon was also the man who had calmly negotiated with Lord Arryn the terms for Robert to be fostered at the Eyrie, without discussing it with Cassana before the matter was settled. She was only the wiser after the agreement had been struck. Her firstborn, her only child, he was to be taken away from her before he grew into manhood.

"Robert would not be alone at the Eyrie," Steffon had told Cassana. "Lord Arryn has agreed to foster Lord Stark's younger son Eddard as well. They will grow to be lifelong friends, I hope. These ties and alliances are important for Robert's future."

She could not fault his reasoning, but that did nothing to diminish the pain she was feeling. There was not even a Lady Arryn at the Eyrie, a substitute mother who could watch over Robert for Cassana.

_You're a foolish, foolish woman_, Cassana admonished herself. She knew this was the way things were done, knew it since she was only a girl. But there was a wide expanse between knowing and experiencing, an expanse further than the distance between Storm's End and Winterfell.

_Why should your child be treated any differently?_ Her own thought was mocking her.

_Because I'm his mother_, she wanted to shout loudly.

Cassana had held Eddard Stark in her arms at Winterfell. Ned, Lady Stark was calling her younger son. Lady Stark had not seemed concerned about losing her Ned. But even if she _was_concerned, Cassana knew that was not something to be discussed with strangers such asherself. Lady Stark would keep her grief to herself, just as Cassana would. They were both women trained to be mindful of their duty. They had married up, both of them, and there would be no shortage of people eager to remind them how fortunate they were, eager to castigate them if they dared voice any reservation about their husbands.

"You're shivering," Steffon said, frowning slightly, his hand touching her shoulder. She flinched.

"Cassana?" Her husband looked and sounded uncertain.

She tried to smile. "I need another cloak," she said, turning away from him as quickly as she could.

"I'll get more woods for the fire," Steffon announced, to Cassana's relief. She did not want him to see the look on her face.

He was gone for long time. He had snow in his hair and melting snow on his cloak when he came back. Had he gone out into the storm? She had assumed he was going to get the woods from the inn's owner's storage.

"They ran out of woods," Steffon replied. "The snow is almost to my knee, and the storm is raging still. We might have to stay here a few days, until it's safe to travel."

"You shouldn't have gone out," she said, removing his cloak and handing him another. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have insisted that we leave Winterfell. I'm sorry."

Steffon shook his head. "You couldn't have known about the storm. You're not to blame."

They had traded apologies back and forth, each insisting that the other was not in the wrong, but avoiding the real heart of the matter.

"Robert will not go to the Eyrie until he's old enough. And we will have other children. Storm's End will not be bereft of the laughter and cries of children after Robert goes to the Eyrie,"Steffon had whispered to Cassana on their last night in Winterfell. That, more than anything else, was his greatest offense in Cassana's mind. As if a child could be so easily replaced by another! It did not matter if they went on to have a hundred other children, it would not make parting with Robert or with any child of hers any easier.

She had said nothing to him at the time. But ever since that night, she had been wary of his touch.

_He wants us to make another child quickly, to replace Robert_. The voice came unbidden, haunting her thoughts. _The sooner you give him another child, the sooner he will send Robert away._

She would have to give him more sons, she had always known that. One son was not enough, not secure enough, not with the threat of illness and dangers looming on every corner. And daughters too, she would have to give him daughters as well, to secure alliances through marriages later. She knew her duty. She had always known her duty. But was it her duty to lose her children as well, to smile and say nothing when her husband sent them away?

They sat as close as possible to the fire. She could hear his teeth chattering. "Rub your hands together," she told him, while doing the same herself. There was no reply. He was asleep, his head lolling from side to side, finally resting on her shoulder. She did not flinch, not this time. She closed her eyes. In her head she was running her fingers down the middle of his face, through the crease in his forehead, the slightly crooked nose, the barely noticeable dimple in his chin. Would Robert grow to have the same features as his father?

"Don't be afraid. It will be an adventure," he had whispered to her on their wedding night. He was talking about the consummation, but for a moment she had believed he was talking about the rest of their lives together.

He muttered something unintelligible in his sleep. His teeth were chattering louder than ever. She sighed. Took his hand and starting rubbing it with her own. He slept on, unperturbed.

If only he had lost his temper even once, raised his voice to her when they argued, then she could have let out all her anger and her frustration. But no, courtesy was his armor, and she had to follow suit.

She tried to picture the rest of their life together. All the things unsaid, all the frowns hidden, all the smiles forced and pretended. Reaching for the other, desperate for a connection, but only grasping the cold steel bite of courtesy and good manners. The bleakness of it took her breath away.

"I promise to be kind to you, my lady. Always," he had promised her on the day he took her home to Storm's End.

She woke him, shaking his shoulder as if her life depended on him waking up. He opened his eyes, startled, and for the first time she saw his naked face, before the mask fell down, before he had a chance to rearrange his expression for her benefit.

"What? What is it?"

"I don't want you to be kind to me. I don't want us to be kind to each other. I want us to be truthful."

He said nothing for a long time. "The truth does not always lead to a satisfactory marriage," he finally said.

"I'm willing to risk it," Cassana replied, and risked it she did. Perhaps she was too overzealous with the truth that night, and he responded in kind; angry words were exchanged, voices were raised and raised further, tempers ran high, and they went to bed furious with each other.

They made Stannis that night, their second-born, conceived on a freezing night of raging blizzard and heavy storm. Later, when Steffon began to wonder if the time and manner of his conception had some mysterious influence on Stannis' disposition and temperament, Cassana would tell him, "He was conceived with truth and honesty."

_With love._


End file.
